Purrfect Love
by Ari Rue
Summary: When a black cat crosses your path, you're supposed to have 7 years of bad luck, not 7 days of heaven. But nothing is ever so simple when the red reaper is involved! Grell makes a deal in hopes of winning Sebastian's love. But it isn't what he expects...
1. Chapter 1: Something Like This

AUTHORS NOTE: I learned something new today. I learned the meaning of "OTP". Now, I'm sure a lot of you out there are laughing your asses off. You're probably thinking I must live under a rock to not know what it meant before today. Well, maybe I do. Once you decorate your rock it's really hard to decide to move- it's just the way you like it. In all seriousness though, I must thank the reviewer of "Commodities" who made mention of the acronym, which then led me to urban dictionary for its meaning. For those of you who also live in the "Under Rock" community, OTP means One True Pairing. It's the characters you think work best together or have the likelihood of becoming a couple. I plan to add this lovely little term to my vocabulary and use it on unsuspecting RL types who also live beneath rocks. I'm just catty like that. ^_~

Speaking of Catty…

This is a fic between fics, a small few chapters that has been rolling around amongst the marbles in my head, trying to put itself together into something readable and maybe even interesting. It is a gift to my reviewers, who have been so supportive with "Commodities" and hopefully it will make up for the terrible things I have done to Grell in that story arc. It caters to those who see Sebastian and Grell as the OTP (SEE SEE, I used it!). This story does not have anything to do with "Commodities", so yeah… this is just a much lighter, shorter piece. To everyone who has been so wonderfully supportive and to those who just stumbled across it- I hope you enjoy, "Purrfect Love".

Purrfect Love

Rain pelted the cobblestone streets of London like knives in the night, each drop falling with an unearthly velocity which warned mortals to stay in their homes. Most people heeded the roar of water, closing their doors and windows against the wet. They lit cheery fires to keep their domiciles warm, replacing the sound of drumming water with the sparkly crackle of dancing flames. That was the smart thing to do, the mortal thing, hideaway warm and dry. For those who were not so smart, or particularly unlucky, there was no fire to keep the night away. They crouched and huddled in the deluge. They hid in doorways and under bridges, wrapped in whatever they had to keep warm, at the mercy of the weather. But not all were so pitiable; some were simply at the mercy of themselves. They ventured out, believing their own sorrows to be more upsetting than nature's fury. They defied the storm's warning wantonly, and their self importance would help them meet their ends.

It was the unlucky and careless cases which made the immortals stray from their own glowing hearths, breaking their cover as humans, forcing them out into the icy storm to do their job. They would put down the books written by mortal authors and fold away the latest newspaper heralding the latest depressing events of an ever evolving, or perhaps devolving, human society. The rain only added to their laden schedules, especially after dark.

Grell Sutcliff rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, balancing on the edge of the stone beveled rooftop like a scarlet gargoyle in the inky night. He sat low on his haunches, hugging his knees lightly against his chest as he looked at the lamp lit street a fair distance below. The wind whipped around him like a girl eager to tease. It grabbed loose twists of his hair and flung it this way and that playfully before letting it drop back against his back, sodden. It pushed at him lightly, testing his balance on the ledge. Would he slip? Would he fall? The wind would not say for sure, but it seemed more interested in toying with the lone reaper than hurting him. But wind was could be so fickle, blowing one way only to come back around and reverse directions. Sometimes it even spun in a circling tantrum, ripping across the landscape as a lover scorned.

He had Angelina's coat over his shoulders, rather than looped casually over his arms. The weather was really nasty and he didn't really want ugly water stains on his white dress shirt. Even though it was easily replaced, the pay cut he had taken gave him new incentive to take care of his things. The coat wasn't as tight across his back as he had expected, which was nice. While posing as The Madame's butler he had lost a considerable bit of muscle and he didn't mind at all, enjoying his new thin, long limbed build. If he could keep himself this slender and still do his job, he concluded that he would do so. Dresses fit a lot better as well, an added bonus.

He hummed a catchy little tune he had picked up at his last mission, waiting for his latest assignment to hurry up and kill himself. He wasn't allowed to go into the house until the man was done and considering the stupid human hadn't even returned home yet, Grell knew he had awhile to wait. It would be so much easier to go to where he actually was and kill him, but Will had already given him a lecture about "All souls in their time" coupled with the dry rhetoric concerning what it meant to be "patient". Grell couldn't understand what the difference was, really. The guy was going to off himself anyhow and waiting around for it to happen was wasteful. Yes, that was it, a waste of time. He would bring that up with William when they spoke next. This job was about being efficient, right?

His humming slowed as he tried to remember how the next part of the song went. He couldn't quite hear it in his head, so he backed up a few bars and hummed it again. How did the next part go? Ah yes, he remembered, not how the next verse went, but why he couldn't remember it. That was about the time people had started dying.

He idly thought back to his last assignment, a dinner party William had actually let him attend before death struck the guests. He didn't know if Will let him go because he knew Grell would enjoy himself, or because the pandemonium which followed after would have made reaping nearly impossible. It was most likely the latter, but Grell let his romantically inclined side believe it was a little recreational gift from his superior.

It really had been fun until the poison punch kicked in. What a bad hostess, Grell thought to himself, poisoning her guests over something as small as her husband's infidelity. Yes, she killed them all because her husband was running around on her and she was the last to know. She blamed her friends for letting her make a fool of herself, for not telling her what was really going on. In Grell's estimation, she had ruined a perfectly good party. What a laughable fiasco, people dropping like narcoleptic cattle, never to reawaken. And the stupid woman had drunk her own deadly brew, dropping right amongst them. She sure showed them who had the last laugh at her expense!

Grell huffed quietly, pulling the coat tighter around his body. He wasn't cold quite yet, but the pouring rain was starting to make its way through the water resistance of the red overcoat. His long red hair was completely soaked through and clung to his back. It was amazing just heavy it was, especially waterlogged like this. He took a moment to push his water splashed glasses a little higher on the bridge of his nose and tuck the shorter layers of his hair behind his ears. As his gloves grazed the tops he realized they were numb. Ok, so maybe he actually was getting a little cold. Where was this guy anyway? He was supposed to be writing his sappy suicide note and hanging himself a full hour ago.

"Well I don't know how long you're planning to hang around here, but I don't think your boy is coming home tonight, meow." A voice said in a very matter of fact tone in the dark beside the reaper, "Probably just as well."

Grell knit his brows quizzically, turning to face the voice. How did someone come up without him noticing, who even knew he was there? "Excuse me?"

"Oh really," the voice continued, sounding just a touch annoyed. "I know you heard me just fine, even with those ugly little things you human types call ears."

In the dark, Grell could just see the outline of the small creature seated just beside him. It was just a touch blacker than the surrounding darkness, with deep sapphire eyes that flashed as they looked up at him. A pair of pert ears flicked this way and that as water hit them, sending droplets flying uselessly as the rain just poured more down, "You're a… cat?"

"Yes," it answered simply, bringing one black paw across its face to wipe its whiskers clear of rain. Almost immediately more water beaded along their length.

Grell reached out, touching the creature's small fuzzy head with the tip of his index finger experimentally, "And… you're talking?"

"It would seem so," it replied, batting Grell's hand away, "Please don't do that."

"Um, sorry,"

"In all seriousness though, your suicide isn't coming home. You are wasting your time."

Grell was thoroughly confused. He had never run across a talking cat before, which was strange considering his line of work. He saw all sorts of bizarre things on a regular basis, but this was a new one. Grell rose to the bait, "How do you know that?"

With a little mewl the cat hopped with weightless grace onto Grell's hunched shoulder, "I'm a cat, I know all sorts of interesting things."

Grell could see it clearly now, so close to his face. The little cat had jet black fur from nose to tail with a small heart shaped patch of white just below the throat. Its eyes were large and round even by feline standards, sharded by black pupils, opened wide to take in the limited light. It looked at him expectantly, dark tail swishing in the rain. Grell brought his index finger up once more, touching it between the cat's luminous eyes. Was this for real?

The cat opened its mouth in a short hiss, striking at his hand with claws out, "Seriously, cut it out."

"Sorry,"

"So can we get out of here?" it asked, "I would really prefer to go somewhere dry, warm would be nice too. I like warm."

Grell wanted out of the rain too, but the whole situation was surreal. He didn't know if he should listen to the cat, run to William and admit his final and absolute insanity, or throw the beast off the roof and see if it actually landed on its feet. Yes, that actually occurred to him.

"Look, it is against everything I stand for as a cat to be blunt, but I can see if I don't get down to it, we'll be out here all night." It said, "Your death assignment is already swinging from a tree, dead as it gets. He decided that a big oak tree was more poetic than the rafters of his flat."

Now that was very strange indeed. Deaths almost always happened as they were supposed to, given a few minutes leeway for unforeseen circumstances. The time, the place, and the means, so long as nothing supernatural was involved, were almost always per the script.

Grell had the itching urge to poke the little cat again, but thought the better of it. Strange as it was, it was sentient and had already told him, twice, to not poke. Instead he decided to press for more information, "And why would he have done that?"

"Probably because I talked him into it," the cat chirped, giving a light shake to free itself of the water beading against its pitch colored coat, "I can't really be sure though. I mean, who listens to a cat?"

How ironic that the cat would say something to that affect. Grell had been wondering that during the whole conversation. Who would listen to a cat?

"So now you know, that's where he went." It continued, "I must really insist we go to your place. I want to dry off."

"My place?"

"Well yes, your place. Where you live? It should be dry, right? We can talk there."

"We have something to talk about?"

"Certainly," it cooed, gingerly sliding against Grell's neck as it nested between Grell's chest and legs in his crouched position, "I have a proposition for you."

The cat curled against the reaper, worming its way into an open gap of his coat, "Carry me, I don't want to walk in the puddles."

Despite the feline's expectant pushiness, Grell found himself bowing one arm beneath the little beast while the other wrapped his coat more firmly around its body. He peeked down his collar at the wet ball of fur settling against him, smiling despite himself. He liked cute things, and odd as this particular animal was with its talking, it was adorable.

Grell stepped away from the ledge, turning towards home with a quick spin before taking off at a dead run over the rooftops. The flat he currently called home was less than a mile away. Not that he spent a lot of time there, opting to sleep wherever the mood struck him and eat when he was out and about. It was more of a human accoutrement than anything, an address to point at when people asked what part of the city he was from. Occasionally he would use it as a workshop for his death scythe or other little projects, but generally it was empty.

He touched down on the railing of his faux balcony window with practiced precision, balancing on the metal bar as he had countless times before. He pressed one hand against the glass, letting it swing gently inward with a quiet creak of salutation. It wasn't that he didn't like using the door, but after a night out, it was always easier to come back through the window, which was why he left it unlatched.

Stepping into what officially amounted to his bedroom; Grell reached a hand into his coat, petting the now dry cat within. "We're here," he said pleasantly.

The sharp nip at his fingers made him jump, sending the little cat to the floor as he lost his grip around its body, "Ouch!"

The cat landed perfectly on its feet, tail twitching nervously as it looks back up at the redhead, "Do I really strike you as the kind of cat you pet? I asked you to stop, more than once."

"I don't know," he said, rubbing his injured fingers with his other hand, "I'm not sure I really thought about it."

"Ok, well now you have. Don't pet me, don't poke me. If I want to be touched, I'll let you know."

Grell shrugged off the coat, hanging it on a nail in the wall, "How will I know?"

"I'm a cat, you'll know." It said, sauntering across the dusty wood floor daintily. It sniffed at the cracks in the floorboards as it went, "You have mice, you know."

"I know," Grell admitted, moving to the hearth to get a fire going, "I'm not here very often."

"Ah, I see." It paused, trotting to sit beside the reaper as he grabbed kindling and paper from beside the simple brick fireplace, "But then where do you take your naps?"

"Naps?" Grell repeated. He chuckled lightly, grinning ear to ear, "You mean like cat naps?"

"Is there any other kind?"

"Wherever I am at the time, I guess. I'm not particular about my sleeping arrangements."

"Me either," it admitted, "But I do have my favorite places."

"So what shall I call you? Kitty?"

"Oh, I don't think so. I have a name and it definitely not kitty."

"Enlighten me?"

"You can call me Clover."

"Clover? That's an interesting name."

"It's after the four leaf clover, you know, for luck?"

"Ironic, considering you are a black cat." He continued to grin at his own little jokes. It had been a long time since he was able to talk to someone so casually. Angelina hadn't been that sort of company, William and his other co workers barely tolerated him, and the Phantomhive household? Well, no, it just wasn't like that.

"No more so than a grim reaper in bright red, I would imagine," She meowed, rubbing her head against Grell's elbow before fluffing herself with a good shake.

"Touché," he said, giggling lightly, "But really, you had some sort of reason for talking to me, right? I hope it isn't just to tell me I'm crazy because I'm talking to a cat. I figured that part out on my own."

"You're not crazy for talking to a cat; it's everyone else who is crazy for not taking the time to listen."

"You mentioned some sort of proposition?" he said, adding a few crumpled balls of newspaper to the fledgling fire, "What could you have that would possibly be of interest to me?"

"I fear I will have to be blunt again," Clover said thoughtfully, "But I just don't want to play cat and mouse with you all night."

"Cat and mouse," he repeated, "You're a funny one."

"No, I'm not," the cat said seriously.

"No, I mean… what you said was, eh, never mind."

"You and I have a common acquaintance, a one Sebastian Michaelis."

Grell's eyes were focused on the little black cat immediately, mood turned serious. What did the cat know about Sebastian and what did it have to d with him? "Go on," he urged carefully, "You have my attention."

"Oh, I know I do." She said, "But do stop looking at me like that. You're giving me the look I give my dinner before killing it. It isn't a very friendly look."

"Sorry," He sure was apologizing to that cat a lot, "So please tell me more?"

"Well it has come to my attention that you want to be with Sebastian, and he unfortunately does not want to be with you."

Grell stiffened, grin slowly fading to a hurt frown, "I'm not sure I would say that exactly. I just don't think Sebby has given it the proper thought. We have a lot in common and I think with some time-"

"No, I don't think so," the cat meowed, "I have spent enough time with that one to know, he isn't interested in you, at all."

"What does a cat know about such things anyway," Grell mumbled, embarrassed.

"There you go, not listening like everyone else." She said noncommittally, walking towards the open window. "I'll be on my way then."

Part of Grell urged him to let the rude little cat go. In retaliation he would lock the window behind it so that it was stuck out in the rain. That would show it who had the final triumph! However, the cat knew Sebastian and was offering… What was the cat offering?

"Wait a minute, I'm sorry," There was that word again. The cat possessed the magical ability to make him apologize, repeatedly. There was simply no other way to explain it, "I want to listen."

Clover turned, smiling as cats often did when they had a mouse cornered, "That makes me happy, because I like to talk to people who will listen."

What an odd little creature, Grell thought for the hundredth time, "So what are you proposing?"

"A simple trade, really." It purred, trotting back to Grell. "You want to be with Sebastian and I want to go talk to an old friend."

"What's stopping you from visiting your friend?" Grell was once again, confused, "It doesn't sound like you need me at all, though I certainly want to get close to Sebby."

"I thought it was obvious," It said, yawning widely, "I talk and talk but you don't listen much better than any of these other human types. He doesn't listen, no one listens."

"What does that mean?"

"Look, I want to trade places with you for a little bit. I promise Sebastian will lavish attention upon you, feed you, sleep with you, touch you in all the right places- but in return I get to go visit my friend."

That was a deal just too good to be true, but in true Sutcliff form, Grell decided to jump in head first, "Done, I accept your offer." He beamed, "How does this work?"

"Something like this," the cat purred, placing its paws on Grell's folded knees as it reached up to touch its nose to the reaper's.


	2. Chapter 2: A Morning After

Purrfect Love: Chapter 2

When Grell awoke, morning light was streaming through the open window in wide beams. It seemed to be a particularly sunny day, which was odd after the previous night's downpour. The reaper squinted against the offending brightness, yawning mightily before resituating himself the blankets.

Blankets…?

With growing alarm, Grell realized he had fallen asleep on the floor, just in front of the hearth. He looked towards the dying fire to verify that yes that had been the case. The hearth was exactly where he expected it to be, embers glowing faintly as their fuel was exhausted. So why were there blankets?

Lifting his head cautiously he took a good look at the blankets he found himself nestled in. He didn't recall owning any quite like these. The deep chocolate material was somewhat stiff against him and the black satin trim was definitely not part of any set he recalled owning. Furthermore, the sheets tangled amongst the strange blanket had large button detailing. No, he was quite sure he hadn't seen these before. He would never have bought sheets with buttons on them, especially not buttons this large. Yet, even though it all felt very strange, the items looked vaguely familiar too. Had be… brought them home from… somewhere else? No, that wasn't too likely. So then what…?

"Good morning, sleepy head!" a woman's voice trilled above him, "I was wondering when you were going to wake up."

Grell looked up just in time to see a pair of enormous hands reach for him and with a terrified screech, he bolted away. As he ran across the floor, the previous night flooded back to him in vivid detail. He remembered the rain, the cat, the proposition. The proposition… THE PROPOSITION!? Oh my God, he thought, Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

He ground to a halt just in front of the window, sending up a cloud of shimmery dust in his wake. His manic side noted that he really needed to clean the flat a bit, but the intelligent side of him was busy taking in the scene for what it was.

He looked down at the floor, which was much much closer than it should have been and then to his hands. But they weren't where he expected them to be. In their place sat a pair of orange rounded paws tipped with tiny translucent claws. Frightened, he hissed ferociously. Hissed? HISSED!? Oh dear Lord what was going on?

He looked back towards the fireplace, where a half naked woman knelt, picking up his clothes quietly. That had been the blanket he had been tangled in, his own clothes piled beside the hearth. He frowned deeply, crouching low to the floor. He was completely naked! He curled his tail around his body protectively. Tail? He had a TAIL!? We wrenched his head back around t see it. Yes, there was a furry pumpkin colored tail attached to his rump, ringed with deep rust. He flipped it back and forth, watching it move from side to side, alarmed and amazed at once. Oh, this was absolutely beyond weird.

His attention slowly turned back to the woman who had begun putting his clothes on. She already had his slacks, but in short order she slipped his undershirt over her head, followed by his buttoned top and waistcoat. It all fit incredibly well.

"You?!" he yowled, "What in Hell did you do to me!?"

She looked up at him, pulling the familiar striped ribbon around her neck and tying it, "Let me know when you're done freaking out."

"I'm not freaking out," He hissed. He could feel his fur rising from his body at all angles, puffing him up like, well, like an angry cat, "I'm perfectly in control, you got that!? Now what did you do to me?"

"You're a cat," she murmured, swinging the red overcoat around her shoulders gracefully, "And let me say, you are absolutely adorable."

"Adorable? I'm not sure how adorable you're going to think I am when I shred you with my death scythe." He said darkly, stalking up to her. He shifted his weight back and forth as he crouched by her leg, getting his balance just right before striking. Claws splayed dramatically as he leapt upon her leg, gripping tightly before clawing his way up, "Now get out of my clothes!"

He felt a strong hand grip the back of his neck and pull him off, leaving him to dangle in front of her face. She had the same big blue eyes he remembered from the night before, round and wide. They still looked exotic but the pupils were decidedly round, just a slight variation. Her face was extremely refined, with a perfectly angular jaw and small, thin nose. Her hair was much like his, the main difference being that hers was jet black. Grell's eyes wandered a bit lower, catching sight of the two shapely mounds beneath the fine fabric of his shirt. While there were a lot of traits she seemed to take from him, she was obviously female.

A quick glance at his furry self proved that he was still most definitely a boy. He tucked his legs up, curling his tail under himself. This was terribly embarrassing for so many reasons. Sensing his discomfort, Clover sighed, situating him properly in her arms before walking over to a tired looking armchair against the far wall, "Please calm down," she cooed, "This behavior is so silly."

Grell lay belly up in her arms, an angry, tense ball of orange fluff with accusing green eyes that, given enough time, could melt holes through lead.

Clover set him gently in her lap, running a gentle hand over the ruffled fur of his head.

"Stop that," he hissed, batting her hand away. Oh, this sounded way too familiar. He couldn't believe what was happening.

"You're a lovely kitty." She said, ignoring his angry swipes.

"I am not a kitty!" he spat, digging his claws into her legs mercilessly, "I am a god of Death! I am a reaper and so help me, I am going to paint the walls with your guts!"

"With what?" she asked innocently. She looked around the room, eyes landing on the chainsaw propped against the edge of Grell's bed, "With that?"

Grell slid to the floor as she got up, heading towards the imposing weapon, "No, no, no, no, don't touch that!" He warned, "That's mine, I need that. That does… things. It's for work!"

She picked it up easily, rocking the weight in her hands before pressing the toggle at the back. The chainsaw buzzed to life, blades spinning into action, "Oh, this is very interesting."

She revved the tool a few times, moving it through the air in slow strokes.

Grell was just about to come unglued as he watched Clover with HIS death scythe. It wasn't like she could break it or anything, but that was personal! No one had the right to touch it but him, let alone turn it on.

"Will you relax?" she sighed, replacing the saw just as it had been before, "It isn't like this is permanent."

Hearing that should have made Grell feel better, but it didn't immediately fix the… problem. What was he supposed to do until he was back in his own body? How long was that going to take? This trade felt very VERY unfair.

"Get out of my clothes," he repeated flatly, trying to look as serious as possible. It was the only thing he could think to say.

"Then what shall I wear?" she asked, moving quickly to the wardrobe on the other side of the bed. She opened both the doors, noting that most of what was inside was repeats of what she was already wearing along with a couple very drab suits. She flipped through the garments, shaking her head at each one.

"Those are mine too," Grell reminded her, padding up to sit beside her feet. He watched her slide each hanger across the wooden dowel glumly. His wardrobe was pathetic, even as a cat he knew it.

After the suits and shirts, Clover came to one of the two dresses he owned, or more specifically had "inherited" recently. She pulled it out, wrinkling her nose in dislike, "What a silly dress."

Grell looked at the white monstrosity, remembering the day Elizabeth Middleford had made him wear it. "Yeah," he said, flattening his ears, "I agree."

She put the white dress back, pulling out the final piece of clothing Grell owned, "Well this isn't too bad," she said, holding the long red dress against her body appreciatively.

"Absolutely not," Grell said sharply, sulking back to the armchair. "I haven't even gotten to wear that yet."

Clover gave the dress another once over. It was really pretty, even if was a little formal for everyday wear. What exactly did Grell mean by wearing it yet? She was a little green at the whole human thing, but she was pretty sure dresses were for girls.

Grell curled up on the worn cushion of the chair, covering his face with both paws, and his tail, "Just forget it, you can stay in what you're wearing."

"Well ok then, thank you." She carefully put the red dress back on its hook, looking toward the pathetic looking cat curled in the chair. "This is supposed to be good for both of us you know; I wish you'd be a better sport."

"I wish you had told me what you meant by all that stuff you said," he said moodily, "I think this would have been a lot less traumatic if I had KNOWN you were going to turn me into a cat."

"I thought it was pretty obvious," she countered, "You just weren't listening well enough."

"I think I sorta knew you would say something like that."

* * *

The little orange cat stared up at the door knocker, frustration gleaming in his luminous green eyes. His tail ticked back and forth in short jerks, twitching at the very tip as he pondered his situation. The brass knocker, seemingly miles above him, glimmered in the afternoon sunlight. It seemed so smiley, looking down at him in false welcome. It said, 'All you have to do is reach up and pull' but for a cat it wasn't quite so simple.

It was only the hundredth time he missed himself in that singular morning. He missed his long, distance covering legs. He missed his willowy arms and hands that could grab and hold objects. And at that particular moment, he missed his lanky height of five feet and seven inches. How exactly was he supposed to announce himself?

Despite the setbacks his new furry form presented, it had particular perks as well. For instance, he heard the skipping steps of the person approaching him long before they actually called, "Oh hi, pretty kitty kitty!"

Grell grimaced, flattening his ears against his head. Was this really what it meant to be a cat? To be greeted with such sugar coated rot? Oh well, maybe this person would be his way in. He turned and flashed the widest grin he could manage, "Meeow!"

Finny trotted right up the grand entry stairs, crouching so he was almost eye level with Grell. His smile was as bright and sunny as his disposition, beaming at the little orange cat with nearly the Cheshire intensity of Grell himself. His clothes were covered with the moist clingy dirt of the garden, making his entire appearance look smudgy. He reached a hand out and tousled the fur on the little cat's head, "Aren't you just the cutest thing! Mr. Sebastian will be very pleased. He loves cats!"

Grell's heart skipped a beat at the sound of the demon's name. Yes yes, he thought, that would do quite nicely! With another chirping meow, Grell closed his eyes happily, brain buzzing with thoughts of his dark haired obsession. Happy thoughts which were almost immediately replaced with shock as he was brusquely grabbed around his middle and hauled skyward.

The ground fell away with amazing speed as Finny picked him up, holding Grell to his chest in what could only be described as a misplaced protective gesture. With both arms hugging the orange ball of fluff close, everything below the somewhat crushing grip was left to dangle, bouncing along as Finny raced to find Sebastian.


	3. Chapter 3: Acting the Cat

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wasn't expecting this story to get so popular! Sorry it has taken so long to update, but I have been working diligently on "The Mortal Coil", sequel to "Commodities". As you would expect, I highly recommend both titles for a darker and more complex read.

Purrfect Love: Chapter 3

From his new perch on the patio chair, Grell stared up at Sebastian in wonder. His emerald eyes shimmered mischievously in the late afternoon sun and the look had not gone unnoticed by the object of his intense fascination. Grell couldn't but be enthralled and Sebastian, seemingly unaffected by the little orange cat's gaze, couldn't help but feel like something was very wrong with the animal.

From the opposite end of the table, Sebastian stood arranging white roses in silence. His white gloves hands moved deftly from the neatly stacked pile of roses to the vase and back again, placing each bloom in thoughtful and practiced array. His eyes, which would have usually been fixed at the task at hand, were on the cat across the way. He loved cats, and yet there was something different about this one which made him uneasy.

The cat's tail swung from the back of the wrought iron chair lazily, showing its relaxed and happy demeanor. That seemed normal enough. What did not seem normal were the rather loud purring noises the cat was making without being pet, or touched, or even talked to. It was like all the cat wanted to do was sit there and watch him arrange flowers. It wasn't even the wary sort of feline appraisal the little black cat which visited him gave, this was more affectionate, even dog-like. The demonic butler wasn't even sure what to do with it.

"Are you ill?" he asked finally, letting his gaze slide to the flowers coolly. If there was one thing he had learned in his centuries of life, it was that if you wanted answers, you needed to ask questions. This meant asking questions which he fully expected no answer to.

Grell took a deep breath, ready to spout that he was feeling good, better than good actually, spectacular! But stopped mid-run and thought the better of it. He held his mouth open for the tiniest moment, wondering what to do. If he talked, Sebastian would know it was him. If he knew it was him, he would never pet him and hold him and say sweet things to him. Best case, he would be ignored after being revealed. More likely, he would be stuffed into a burlap sack and drowned in the nearest body of water.

Grell forced a wide yawn, letting out his breath in what he considered a very cat-like way as he closed his mouth once more. He finished his thought with a short, "Mew?"

Sebastian glanced back up warily. Had the cat actually thought about answering the question? How very odd. He decided to try another tactic. If the cat was just a cat, he wouldn't care, and if he was something else… Well, he hoped he would get some sort of telling reaction, "Perhaps you are just one of those 'feeble minded' cats."

Feeble minded? Feeble Minded! Grell scrunched his nose, visibly offended at the thought. He was not retarded! He was not FEEBLE minded. Oh the nerve! The hair on his back began to rise, tail puffing to almost double its sleek diameter.

"I see," Sebastian said easily, zeroing in on the little cat knowingly, "So you aren't a normal kitty, are you?"

Grell's already large eyes widened even farther, pupils contracting to bare pin-pricks of black. He was caught in his game and it was only his first day. His fun was over before it had begun. Oh foolish pride, arrogant self import; it was all undone!

Both men locked eyes in a duel of ensuing wits, their battle about to commence with fierce vigor. Sebastian gently put the vase of roses aside, moving towards Grell with his own predatory intentions. His eyes gleamed with a tawny intensity, ready to strike and discover what sort of imposter had taken on his favorite pet's form, "Here kitty kitty…"

Grell's fur fell flat in a guilty back peddle as he pressed himself against the arch of the chair. He gave an innocent mewl of submission, hoping that the demon might find it cute. However it seemed that his attempt at feline supplication fell on deaf ears.

Sebastian reached towards the cat slowly, ready to grab its scruff as a monumental crash was heard around the corner of the mansion. He paused, looking towards the sound. Grell looked as well; wasting his opportunity for escape as Pluto came barreling onto the patio.

The Hell hound bounded on all fours, human legs a poor length in comparison to his arms as he ran awkwardly towards Sebastian. His tongue lolled in canine exuberance, scarlet eyes a glow with misplaced love and admiration.

'Dog!', Grell thought in a panic, leaping upward reflexively with a great hiss, 'Dog, Dog, DOG DOG DOG DOG!'

What happened next was a terrible blur of arms and legs and teeth, ultimately culminating in Grell tightly curled against himself with his eyes screwed shut against the world. This was it; his soul papers would read, "Death by Hell Hound."

As he swung helplessly by the scruff of the neck, Grell had the very slow realization that he was not dead. Each gentle sway back and forth acted like the needle of a metronome, marking a reprieve from death one second at a time. The commotion was gone, but he still remained. It was a miracle.

Grell opened his eyes, staring down at his curled paws as if he was astonished they were still attached to his body. He was still getting used to the idea that his long, slender legs had been replaced by the bony, fur covered appendages his gaze rested upon, but he was happy to see them all the same.

Grell gasped softly as a thin line of blood traveled over the fur of his knee, arcing over his foot before splashing quietly to the ground. It disappeared quickly from sight as whoever had a hold of him walked over towards the mansion.

"I-I'm bleeding!" Grell blurted without thinking, shrinking against himself further as he realized he had just spoken out loud. Well Hell, too late now.

"We both are," Came the deadpanned response, "And once we get cleaned up, you can explain to me… in candid detail, why you're here and why you're a cat."

"Meow?" Grell tried cutely, looking up at Sebastian with thankful but frightened eyes, "I thought you liked cats?"

"I do," Sebastian said coldly, "I just don't like you."

Grell looked back down at his feet, watching as the little trickle of blood continued to roll off his toes. Sebastian should have realized that with that statement, he had his answer for the original question. What more could he do than try to change into something Sebastian found more appealing? Not that it mattered now.


End file.
